


How a Stark Endures.

by LadyMD



Series: Different Roads Sometimes Lead to the Same Castle [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Duty, F/M, Family, Happy Ending, Healing, Honor, House Stark, House Tully, Hurt/Comfort, Justice, Lady of Winterfell, Memories, Mentions of Rape, Post-Episode: s06e04 Book of the Stranger onwards, Queen Sansa, Queen in the North, Rating May Change, Reunions, Sibling Love, Slow Burn, Trauma, Wish Fulfillment, evolution of feelings, mentions of abuse, reclamation, winter is coming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-01 21:55:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11495529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMD/pseuds/LadyMD
Summary: In which we learn and practice the lessons Sansa Stark received and how she goes on learning and eventually, impart those lessons to people who need them while she works at the latest role she is pushed to play. We watch as she changes from being merely a piece on the board, to being a powerful player and finally play with the name she chooses for herself. So she plays and fights, courtesy her armor, words, her sword. She would show them all that it doesn't end simply with a Stark enduring and she will not be the last one.(A companion story to the Different Roads series but may stand alone).





	How a Stark Endures.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle was over, and now they've won back Winterfell with the help of the Vale. It's the second time Sansa has to ride back to reclaim her home for her family. As she takes a tour of Winterfell, she starts on seeing what needs to be done to restore her ancestral home just as she once only thought possible through dreaming when she was back at the Eyrie, while she forces herself to remember all her lessons and promises when she was still a prisoner of her own home. She is the Lady of Winterfell. She will run the household as expected of her and rebuild her home as Lady Starks did. But first, she must kill Lady Bolton.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy GOT7 day! I have so many mixed feelings about the premiere. Anyway, this story has been a long time coming for me and was written before the new season as a wish fulfillment so its untouched by the goings on in the premiere.
> 
> Just a quick rundown, so you won't get confused. This will not be a direct narrative as this chapter will focus on Sansa's thoughts, memories, and perceptions about being back in Winterfell just after the Battle of the Bastards. The full flashbacks will be italicized and marked with page breaks, while in the middle the scenes will be split in a three-way perspective as Sansa sees it. Just imagine thinking through layers and compartments. chapter. 
> 
> That said, enjoy and comments would be appreciated and taken note of!

_I fled to the woods and hid at the spot that Jon and I found when we were playing hide and seek with Robb._

_I tucked myself close and held my hands over my mouth to keep as quiet as I could._

_Were they okay? Did the wildlings kill my brothers?_

_Did the men get to them in time?_

_We were playing by the Godswood, the three of us, when the Wildlings came._

_I shivered when I remembered they want to steal me._

_Robb drew his wooden sword and told me to run first as he tackled the Wildling with as much force as a boy of seven could._

_Jon all but pushed me to move as he did the same._

_I ran and I ran and cried at the stable boy to call my father - call Ser Rodrik to the Godswood where they were._

_The stable boy left me quickly and alone that I couldn't go back inside the keep that quickly. This was the nearest place._

_I sang mother's song five times in my head and still no one came._

_I felt the tears pricking my eyes and my breathing starting to heave when my fear started taking over._

_But I bit my lip and sang louder in my head, while I kept my eyes shut tight._

_"Sansa?"_

_My eyes flew open at the voice I knew well. "Jon?" I squeaked._

_And there he was._

_"Jon!" I launched my arms around his neck and he caught me with his skinny arms, twirling me once before fussing over me. I told him what happened as he told me his side. He told me I saved them by telling the men quickly to help them. I told him he saved me too._

_"Aye, we saved each other then."_

_I laughed and nodded at his chest, and held on to him tighter._ _"Father always said the pack survives!_ "

_"Aye and we're in Winterfell. No one can truly harm us in our own home."_

* * *

It would be the second time she would be riding back to Winterfell ever since the day her life was split in two.

It was snowing then as it was now.

 _Robb had melting flakes in his hair when he hugged me. The snowball Arya tried to make kept coming apart in her hands._ Sansa thought when she set trained her eyes to Winterfell as the Knights of the Vale crushed Ramsay's army.

 _I've ridden out of the gates of Winterfell with the snowflakes swirling around me, off to see the great wide world._ She almost frowned at the memory, instead she nudged at her mount and picked up the pace once she saw Jon and his men sprinting towards the gates.

That day was one she prayed and dreamed about in all her younger years. 

_I thought my song was beginning that day, but it was almost done._

She almost paused when she reached the breeched gates, her heart exploding from what would welcome her inside. Briefly, she shut her eyes.

* * *

 

 "Winterfell _is your_ home."

       _"Not anymore - "_

  "Always.  _You're Sansa Stark, eldest surviving child of Ned and Catelyn Stark. Your place is in the North."_

_"I'll die before I go there - "_

_"Stop being a bystander. Stop running. There's no justice in the world- not unless we _make_ it. You loved your family- _avenge them."__

* * *

 

Sansa opened her eyes then and tried to reforge the steel and frost that straightened her back, sharpened her eyes, and flowed under the currents of her careful words when she first rode back, convinced and brightly determined to take her rightful place as a Stark of Winterfell but the tiniest clench of her grip on the reins told her she'd have to try _harder._ And she will. She  _must._ Because the objective never changed. She  _had_ to come back. No matter how many times, she must come back. 

"There must always be a Stark in Winterfell," she muttered as she urged her mare forward, her mind a flurry of thoughts like the snow that trailed after her.

 _I truly believed I was Ice, reforged then, that first time I rode back - fresh from the furnace of the Seven hells itself that was King's Landing and the Vale where they burned away my family's honor, stripped and melted all my pride and foolish ideations, molded me into who they want me to be, hammered into obedience only to be set to flames again and again and hammered again and again to be used as they pleased - a stag pommel to a rose to a lion to a falcon to a mockingbird - and then finally, a direwolf set home finally, with its powerful howl and sharp fangs, all because I chose to endure._ _I thought that words and tears and subterfuge at the Vale was my final tempering when they delivered me straight to home from there - polished, sharp, and recognized...and seemingly ready to strike._

Sansa's lip curled the slightest.  _It wasn't. I was to be burned and hammered and tempered more._

A few moons ago, she had been the first Stark to come back to her home that had been sacked and captured twice and set to flame. 

As promised then so long as she'd ride back, she would be home, she would be Lady Stark, and she would also gain a new husband who would swear to her by her father's gods. 

And when she did ride back, she was welcomed by the man who betrayed and killed her brother and mother. And she was greeted by her groom-to-be. _They shall use my name and wield it like a weapon, but it is not my only shield._ She in turn, with a practiced smile and a curtsy, greeted them back and gave her hand to be kissed and to be married.  _I will not make the same mistake that killed my brother and lost him the north. I will do my duty._

A strange farce as if no betrayal ever happened. 

It was a different sight that greeted her now. 

For there was her _husband_ she escaped from, there as he promised her he'd be waiting for her return. 

Half dead, bloody and broken, yet smiling that smile she knew so well while her brother, covered in blood and grime, was on top of him, killing him relentlessly blow after blow with his own bare fists while her _husband's_ men surrendered, and her brother's men and hers watched. 

She dismounted then and walked silently, back straight, chin up, and eyes straight. 

She watched and she watched as his life ebbed away, the sound of cracking bones, pounding flesh against bloody flesh, and grunting filled the courtyard, as different emotions flickered in her unblinking cold blue eyes. 

Until finally, Jon Snow's eyes met with hers and he understood. 

With one last disgusted look, he dropped Ramsay Bolton and walked away.

Sansa didn't even watch to see where Jon walked off to once her eyes trained on her unconscious _husband._

There was a stillness over her form as she looked. Her face was stone, her eyes two blue unblinking points, - a mask of neutrality from a far. Yet if one looks closer, there is a flicker in those too hard eyes as she realized how reversed their situation now, with her looking down at her husband's battered and bloody body, instead of the nights where _that_ was _her._

There was a tightness now in her gaze as she saw, despite the ruin that was his face, he still managed to hold on to the sardonic cruel smile she is all to familiar with. But the tiny curl of one side of her lip hinted at more than relief, but close to satisfaction as the snow flurried down from above and behind her, settling on her _beloved husband_ as she thought to call in her head with much loathsome. 

_I told you didn't I, my dear lord husband? One day, winter will come for you._

Before she knew it, he was gone, dragged by the legs and away from her sight by a Mormont soldier and a Thenn. 

_Jon's men. As Lady Mormont made her opinions of me clearly._

She blinked then and her brows furrowed, ready to ask where they were going to take him to and what was ordered to be done with him when her face paled and her heart dropped when he saw the men wheel in her youngest brother Rickon's body. 

She walked briskly and stood beside Jon whose fisted bloodied hands shook at his sides. 

When finally her brother's body was brought before them, Sansa's face hardened even more, her eyes almost glowing in frosts as she saw the cursed arrow that pierced straight through his heart leaving no hope for surviving. 

 _He looks so much like Robb._ She thought, almost reaching up to touch the auburn curls, or his sharpened cheeks, to the broadening jaw that would, given a few more years would shape to be like Robb's and unlike Bran's smooth hairless face, would start their stubbling. But she did not feel she deserved to touch him. 

_When was the last time I saw him? Six. He was six then and small and messy and innocent and alive._

Her hands shook too as she shut her eyes briefly, abandoning her mask, letting anger and hate replace the blood in her veins. 

_He really does look like Robb. And like Robb...he was killed with the dignity of a butchered animal._

"Take my brother's body to the crypt. He'll be buried next to our family," she heard Jon order, and soon enough they both watched as they wheeled his brother away. 

Her eyes snapped to Jon then as she struggled to keep her composure now that she let a sliver of it escape her tight control, but it was too late to come back as more slithered out from the cracks that were forming.

"Jon," she called out through gritted teeth. 

He looked at her then, his eyes a mix of emotions but kept silent at the sight of her seething.

"Where is he?" She demanded. Because among everything,  _this_ she could confront the easiest. 

Jon softened slightly, his blood was still up yet the look on Sansa's face made him hold back on all the things he wanted to say to her. "Dungeons. Where do you want him?"

Her eyes twitched at first but then realized that Jon was asking her. Giving her a say. 

"Why did you stop?" She asked in answer instead.

Jon let out a breath and looked at her fully, making her understand that he knew what was hers. But all she heard truly was her own father's words behind his. "He wasn't mine to pass judgment on." He then called over a soldier. "Tell him where you want him and do with him as you will...if you want me to kill him, just tell me. Anything you want. He's yours." 

Her eyes softened for a moment before hardening again as she turned away to look at the lad. "Tie him up in the kennels."

She started walking past Jon then but stopped just in front of him and dared to look into his eyes, blue meeting grey and holding. A part of her wants to say something -  _do_ something - _anything_ to make Jon feel how much it meant to her. But there were too many cracks already - just one more for her to break and she could not and would not allow herself to break. Not now. Not here. Not even for Jon. 

To Sansa's relief, that seemed to be enough for Jon, for without breaking his gaze, with a nod, he stepped aside without a word, and let her pass until she is forced to finally look away - eyes burning her back as she walked but she would not feel. Not when she was as cold as she was.

 

. . .

 

She didn't go inside the keep right away. Instead she walked up the steps that lead to the main gate's battlements where she can both look beyond the castle as well as view the courtyard within. 

She faced beyond the gate first.

From here on she started seeing the world in threes as she taught herself. The Lesson. The Task. The Dream.

 The _Task_ ,is what she actually sees and what she intends to do with what she sees while the  _Lesson_ looms in the periphery like shadows chasing after her, and the  _Dream_ the transparent wisps like mist, or clouds - the tiniest slivers of hope. 

The _Lesson_ , is what haunts her still for she won't forget, and it looked like this. 

 _~ Shaky images though shattered glass and reflected light over an endless darkness. Hands on window bars, eyes on the snow and ruin she assesses, before and even with cheeks to the mattress. Pride to the floor. Blood everywhere. **And his voice teaching her.**_  

The  _Dream,_ is sweet and fleeting and limited, and it looked like this. 

**| _Like looking though a flimsy veil, of blossoming hope, and an untainted haven in the blood stained world. A pocket of an unguarded   time  - her Godswood at the Eyrie._**

 

And looking beyond the gate, this is what she sees. She sees the shadows clinging first before they break into what it actually is. 

 

 _~ Snow. I dared not reach a hand out the window to catch the all too familiar touch of cold on my fingertips. I wouldn't need to touch it to confirm it anyway. But I've spent to many days already, wasting my time in watching the snow fall from first light until the last. I looked inside my...room instead and tried to find traces of Robb, and traces I did find. It is what drew me to the window sill - a faint dusting of white I thought was snow, only to find out the mound was only white ashes. I bent down and touched my finger to that tiny hill of ash, letting the fine powder stick to my finger, bringing it closer to my sight. It was useless to watch the snow outside, I out of anyone should know that most. Snow will always come. No matter how I've been perishing in flames night after night, it will still be snowing outside. I dusted it off my fingers then and went back to the window. What I should be doing is not looking for traces in the ashes, but seeing all the forgotten broken pieces of the castle left to be simply covered up by the snow. I will unbury them, dig each and everyone of them when I can. But only after I bury **him**_ first. Winterfell will rise once more while he rots buried in winter. I _won't lose my mind. I won't let him win. So I will wait. And I will plan. **"Ah. How are you this evening, beloved wife?"**_

 

 Snow was piling up just as bodies were piling up from outside like snow capped armored walls and hills and mounds only with eyes, and faces, and limbs. Some still alive, some barely, most dead. 

Pyres rose as the stench of burning flesh and cloth filled the air as the sound of hooves, and clashing steel, and screams and orders joined in as far as her eyes could see, stretching leagues upon leagues. 

Sansa's eyes followed as the Falcon crested knights carrying our flag, rode in with other men - allies with flags and foes in chains, leaving the carnage outside with the different bodies, broken armor, scattered weapons, and different flags and banners to be cleared out later, but for now, left to be buried in the snow or burned.

She watched as they stripped the walls of every bearings of an upside down flayed man to be burned and forgotten.

And for a short moment, her eyes glinted and shone as she saw as they started replacing each one with her family sigil. Torn between sobbing and laughing madly at the sight of the Grey Direwolf, flying freely on top of the castle. 

_Winterfell belongs to the Starks once more._

Then she remembered.

_No._

_It is a Stark that belongs to Winterfell._ She thought as she turned around and faced the courtyard, assessing the castle's damages, snow catching on her flaming red hair, mirroring the river of blood catching white outside the castle walls. Flags and bodies - Outside the world was painted in blues, in browns, in greens, in blacks, in reds where the white shall settle. 

 

**| _Snow was falling on the Eyrie. When she opened the door to the garden, it was so lovely that she held her breath, unwilling to      destroy_ _such a beauty. The snow drifted down and down, all in ghostly silence, and lay thick and unbroken on the ground. All color  had fled the world outside. It was a place of whites and blacks and greys. White towers and white snow and white statues, black    shadows and black trees, the dark grey sky above. A pure world, Sansa thought. I do not belong here.”_ _At the center of the garden, beside the statue of the weeping woman that lay broken and half-buried on the ground, she turned her  face up to the sky and closed her eyes. She could feel the snow on her lashes, taste it on her lips. It was the taste of Winterfell. The  taste of innocence. The taste of dreams._**

 

. . .

 

 ~ It was cruel to see it. Each and everyday. Outside my window only one tower was clear to be seen. And even then we called it the broken tower. Now all the more fitting, as it broke my brother's spine, broke my family apart, broke like the hope of being rescued when Theon sold me out. A broken tower that was never rebuilt and left to be called as such. Was this to be my fate for  _he_ breaks me every night. No. As long as I had my mind, he  _can't._ Not completely. Yesterday, I was planning on rebuilding the glass gardens in my head when he started carving up my back.  _ **"Sansa, my lady wife, hold still, my pretty wife. Come now, won't you give your husband a smile? Are you still upset about your friend? Or Reek? Now what are we to do about this lovely candle, hmm?"** I gave him a smile. "I am not upset my lord."  **"Good, good."** I heard him light the candle. I forced myself to pretend to hiss when the wax met my skin and squirm, and cry. But truly this was not the worst but this is how he chose to break me tonight. I looked out the window and saw the tower again, while in my mind I went there, thinking of what use I'd get out of it when I rebuild it. I am the Lady of Winterfell. Nothing will stay broken forever. _

 

 Sansa went down the battlements and walked around the outer keep, mindful of not getting in the way of anyone, yet making sure to nod politely at each greeting she is met with as she passes for everyone knew who she was. As she walks, her eyes scan every courtyard, every space, every wall and every tower. She walks with her chin held high but with the ease of not having burning mad eyes on her back all the time or a leering guard to her flanks with blades to her sides. The look she had on her eyes made people steer clear of her path though they still took notice but on kinder orders - Jon's, she'd wager. She walks about assessing the damage, distinguishing old from new wreckage, confirming and redoing if necessary the plans she thought of and making new ones as she goes, all without fear of looking over her shoulder. For how can she be afraid when Ghost trails a good distance behind her? How can she be afraid when the battle she provoked ended in their victory? She walks and she plans and then she reaches the Broken Tower she promises to fix first. 

 

**| _She pushed two of her snowballs together, added a third, packed more snow in around them, and patted the whole thing into the shape of a cylinder. When it was done, she stood it on end and used the tip of her little finger to poke holes in it for windows. The crenellations around the top took a little more care, but when they were done she had a tower. I need some walls now, Sansa thought, and then a keep. She set to work._**

 

. . .

 

Sansa reaches the Inner Keep and we see her clasp her hands together and keep them by her waist level as she walked inside the keep. To the untrained eye, you'd see the air of pride in her steps, and there is. But closer, everything about her tightens from her gaze, to her thoughts, to her hands. _Touching the bars that kept you from going outside is one thing, moving back inside your prison is another._ She stops once in a while to relinquish her clasp and touch the warm walls heated by the hot springs. When she sees the Great Hall, she freezes for a moment. 

~  _I was allowed to wear a pretty gown to match my pretty face as he bade me to sit to his right as he sits to his father's right from high up the daise while the Warden of the North receives petitions from his bannermen. From here I eye them all. Karstarks. Umbers. Dustin. And the rest that I was sure did not have much choice, I knew because all but the three would not look at me in the eye. I watched as the flayed body of Lady Cerwyn was shown. Watched as a Ryswell boy was ordered beaten to death by stealing. Watched as a Hornwood elderly bled to death for the mistake of addressing Ramsey as Ramsey Snow, not Bolton. Watched as he pleaded for mercy. I watched as voices filled my head with distant memories. "Treason, is treason." "I'll be good. I had nothing to do with my traitor brother's battles. Please my King. Thank you my King for your mercy." "Teach my betrothed her place. My lady is too dressed, unburden her. Don't touch her face. I like her pretty." "The small folk should fear you more than they fear the enemy." Words are wind. When I will rule, my men will have none of the fear and the distrust in their eyes when they look at me. I will be a good queen. I will make them love me._

Ghost licks against her shaking hands and she unfreezes at ones. She takes note of all the bared walls, the empty seats, the empty tables.  _A feast._ She decides.  _I shall have to prepare a feast._ Sansa thinks about filling the hall with cries of victory and not of the walls echoing her trapped screams back at her.  _Winterfell became my prison. My home became my own prison._ She watched as one of the men draped a flag over the great chair, removing the memory of pale blue eyes as well as green eyes and the chair of swords. Too many times she bled and cried before mad rulers who took and took from her for being a Stark.  _No more._   _Winterfell is ours and it shall be home again._

**| _Soon her gloves and her boots were crusty white, her hands were tingling, and her feet were soaked and cold, but she did not care.  The castle was all that mattered._   _The snow fell and the castle rose. Two walls ankle-high, the inner taller than the outer. Towers and turrets, keeps and stairs, a round kitchen, a square armory, the stables along the inside of the west wall. It was only a castle when she began, but before very long Sansa knew it was Winterfell.”_**

* * *

_Why couldn't he see it? Why couldn't he see me? Throughout the final war council, Jon never looked my way._

_When I saw him at last after reaching Castle Black, days and days after fleeing Ramsey, it was as sweet as I thought it would be._

_We met halfway and we held each other tight as we never did back when I learned he was only my half-brother that hurt mother so._

_But he was Jon, his blood ran Stark, and he was home._

_For I have been home and it didn't feel like it was, not even before Ramsey's games -  not how it felt like in Jon's arms._

_Seeing him was seeing hope._

_We were a pack and the pack survives._

_But here in his tent, it's as if he is a lone wolf ready to face the battle alone._

_"But I wanted to make him angry. I want him coming to us at full tilt."_

_Those are his last words before his two trusted advisers leave with theirs._

_That's it?_

_"So you've met with the enemy, drawn up your battle plans," I started._

_He slumps down his chair and gives me a half-smile. "Aye, for what it's worth."_

_What. it's. worth? I stopped from clenching my firsts or arching a brow. How can he smile knowing his plan was filled with holes?_

_"You’ve known him for the space of a single conversation. You and your trusted advisors. And you sit around, making your plans on how to defeat a man you don’t know," I paused, pulling up all my patience. He at least did not dare interrupt so I went on. "I lived with him. I know the way his mind works. I know how he likes to hurt people. Did it ever once occur to you that I might have some insight?"  
_

_A look of guilt fills his eyes as he nods. "You’re right. I should have asked you."_

_Yes. You should've. "You think he’s going to fall into your trap, but he won’t. He’s the one who lays traps." Jon, listen to me!_

_"He's overconfident."_

_"He plays with people. He’s far better at it than you are. He’s been doing it all his life!" I practically yelled in frustration. He is still not listening to me._

_He rises from his seat as if he's been patient for too long. The nerve of him!_

_"Aye, and what have I been doing all my life? Playing with broom sticks? I’ve fought beyond the Wall, against worse than Ramsay Bolton. I’ve defended the Wall from worse than Ramsay Bolton," he says with his voiced raised with anger that it almost takes me back a little but his last statement broke me._

_What does he know of worse? What does he know of the things that Ramsay Bolton has done - and to me! Me! As Theon said, it could always be worse and it did. Each. Night. What does he know of worse? He acts as if I insulted him. As if what was done to me could hardly pass as what he thinks are 'worse'. If anything it was a compliment on how he is far different from the kind of man Ramsay was._

_"You don't know him!"_

_He softens then. Good, he must've seen now, finally. "All right. Tell me: what should we do? How do we get Rickon back? "_

_I sucked in a breath. He talks as if one foot is already on his grave or was this a challenge or was it merely him indulging me like a petulant child? Doesn't he already know? Can't he see that truth too?_

_If he wasn't brave to say it, I would have to say it for the both of us. "We'll never get Rickon back." Not with this abysmal number. Not with this risky plan. I tried. We needed more time. I cannot emphasize this enough!_

_He looks at me incredulously and I could only return it with by allowing him to see the guilt and maybe the anguish. But I knew what hope did and lies covered. "Rickon is Ned Stark’s trueborn son. Which makes him a greater threat to Ramsay than you, a bastard, or me, a girl. As long as he lives, Ramsay’s claim to Winterfell will be contested. Which means he won’t live long."_

_He looks crestfallen and I almost want to take them back but I can't. The sooner he realizes this, the sooner he can drop any extra risky cards he still holds and see the bigger picture._

_"We can’t give up on our brother."_

_I almost faltered at his stubbornness but I couldn't fault him for answering the way father would have - the way father got himself killed. But I won't let them take my only family away from me. So he has to listen._

_But as we went on, back and forth, my hands almost flying to my hair to pull at it as he continues to resist - blocking me with his noble ideals that weren't practical. I don't doubt his dedication. This was the picture of a man who was all but ready to die for our cause - which he will if he doesn't listen. But it was already too late._

_And after a round of shouting, I knew there was no going through to him._

_"We're lucky to have this many men."_

_Lucky? Lucky? Look around Jon! Wake up! How can you put our lives on the line with luck and hopeful wishing?_

_When he asked where we were going to get more men, I should've told him where. I should've told him from who. It was there at the tip of my tongue. But then he said, "Battles have been won against greater odds."_

_I knew I lost him then._

_If you truly believe that Jon, then you've already lost._

_Yes, Jon will lead, and Jon will fight. To the death, until his last breath, he will fight. And he knows._

_He knows he will die in battle tomorrow with the knowledge that at least this time, he would go out the honorable way._

_Honor. Didn't he already see, House after House, after House? Honor is what kept my father's bannermen to him. What was honor in the face of starvation? What was honor when your household is under a knife? What was honor when you are given no choice?_

_But if he listened to me and waited, we could change the tide. The Manderlys - The Flints - The mountainclans! If we gave it more time, we could go back to the Glovers with a larger army and soon the others could follow now that they have a better choice. Wasn't it that when I came back to Winterfell, the first words that were spoken to me in confidence: "It is good to have you back home Lady Stark. The North Remembers." There are still people who are loyal and maybe most of them were loyal still. But what is loyalty when you are afraid?_

_They all remember, I do not doubt. But they believed for too long that remembering was all they could do while all hope was lost and they've turned to survival._

_We just had to give them that hope back - their choices back. Not everyone who bled for the North has died._

_Jon is alive._

_I was still standing._

_Both of us died in one form or the other, but our spirit never did._

_We just needed a little bit more time._

_It's there. The loyalty. Just waiting for the right opportunity and the best plan._

_Jon just wants this to end. Jon will think of rescuing Rickon tomorrow or die trying. What about me?_

_I shook away those thoughts and reminded myself that I pushed him here._

_He never wanted any of this. He wanted to run away - take me away from all of these and start a new life where no one knows our names. And I would've followed him anywhere. But this had to stop. Running had to stop. I couldn't do it anymore. I've been running away for far too long and I made a promise all those nights I've bled in Winterfell - that every tear, every scream, every drop of blood and dignity I had to give would not be in vain._

_But now he decided for no more time and I only had one last option. One I've selfishly withheld, thinking I didn't and would never need. This can't be the end of it. I didn't endure all that just for it to end this way_ _. What is one more wound to take? And if that should fail too then I will take matters into my own hands. But until then, one more sacrifice I can do for Winterfell._

_I felt on the precipice of trembling at what awaits me should I fail even then. But I had to try. One last try for home, for my family, for myself. I will not run, not ever again. But if I fail, they won't catch me either._

_I gave my back to him and started for the exit but he needs to know. "If Ramsay wins... I’m not going back there alive. Do you understand me?"_

_At that he staggers, his eyes looking at me with pity and guilt and sadness - all three of which I didn't need nor want. "I won’t ever let him touch you again. I promise. I’ll protect you."_

_That should've thawed the ice around my heart. Once upon a time it could have, but it only served to push me to force my hand. There was no justice in the world. Only if you make it._

_How can you protect me if you are dead? Don't you know the lone wolf dies but the pack survives? Don't you know if you die I will too eventually? One way or another? How can I trust you if you don't have faith in me too?_

_"No one can protect me," I turned around and started walking away. It was that look in his eyes as he made his battle plans and convinced me in vain of it. The look that didn't fear death - only acceptance if it comes for him so his fighting would stop._

_Jon chose his grave._

_Now I'll choose mine, but I won't go quietly._

_"No one can protect anyone."_

_Fight your battle how you think you should fight it, Jon._

_I'll fight it how I must._

* * *

 It was enough for now. 

She's seen the damage.

She's made her plans. 

Now, passing over briefly to Lady's grave, I must start on my promise. 

It was time to be the Lady of Winterfell once more.

 _Lady._ I thought back bitterly.

_A lady at three, as my mother liked to brag whenever she would introduce me._

  _A lady I've become the moment I was old enough to start being one._

 _Princess_ Sansa.

 _Lady_ Sansa.

_A sweet pretty thing who sings songs, plays the harp, embroiders art, and is ever courteous._

 Little dove.

Little bird.

A bird they kept in gilded cages, made to sing songs of their choosing. Made to keep look pretty and learn songs and other crafts until the day of their greatest duty and honor comes - marry a high lord, bear and raise his children, and rule the household as the lady of the house. 

  _Twice over I've been made the Lady of Winterfell._

_First, by right of birth when all my trueborn brothers died._

_Second by marriage, when I married the heir of the current Lord._

_This time, I shall do so once more by right of conquest._

Her feet moved while her mind stilled with nothing but her destination. 

  _I will be more._ She left the lichyard.

 _I will, do, **more.**_ She passed the courtyard. 

And before she knew it, she was there.

...and  _he_ was too. 

Down, down, inside the path was barely lit and silent, save for the growling.

Deep inside, the furthest the way lead, he sat, unconscious, bound, and unrecognizable under all the swelling, the blood, the grime.

Sansa stops directly in front of him, a gate of iron bars separate them, while a single torch illuminates the place from behind her. 

She says nothing, just keeps still and waits.

He stirs and she waits.

He opens his eyes, blinks, and then he sees her.

"Sansa, hello Sansa," he greets and she doesn't speak still yet his hounds do. He looks around and realizes that he is in the kennels. 

"Is this where I'll be staying now?"

Sansa hardly blinks.

"No. Our time together is about to come to an end," he pauses. He tries his last card and despite the swelling, Sansa still sees the smile that haunts her every night. "That’s all right. You can’t kill me. I’m a part of you now," the last part he whispers roughly, the sound of which would normally be enough to make her skin crawl, but that part of her is already dying and would die with him tonight.

Slowly, with the grace she is known for, she walks a fraction closer and says with the voice of a queen. "Your words will disappear. Your house will disappear, your name will disappear. All memory of you will disappear. 

The bravado has left him as he sees his hounds sitting on his cage with the kennel gates open. He smiles anyway.

"My hounds will never harm me."

"You haven’t fed them in seven days. You said it yourself. 

"They're loyal beasts," he presses but we can see his certainty slipping.

"They were. Now they're starving."  _This is my last duty as Lady Bolton. To remove the final threat to the household as you've harped about every night, dear husband, isn't this what you taught me?_ Is what she wanted to say but didn't. That name will disappear.

Sansa watches as one by one the dogs enter his cage. Watches as one moves close. Watches as her former husband order them in vain. 

Faintly, very faintly, the light from the torch flickers on Sansa's impassive face - that for a moment, her bright blue eyes glowed white then blue once more - in a glint that served as a signal for the hounds to attack their former master - the same master that gave them their taste for human flesh and bones.

She watches as his hounds rip him apart, never flinching at the sound of their feasting while their master's screams filled the air until they've ripped his throat away from him too. She watches until she knows its nigh - until the end because she must.  _Father always said, he who passes the sentence must swing the sword._

Slowly, Sansa steps back, and turns away from her husband forever. 

_To be the lady of Winterfell, to be able to do my duty as I was taught and trained, I have to be a widow._

_I must be Lady Stark thoroughly. By blood and only blood, my name my only name and none others._

 Sansa walks away from the kennels.

 I _am Sansa Stark._

_Lady of Winterfell._

_Now I can begin._

As she walks out and away, Lady Sansa Stark allows herself the faintest smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since no_longer_lurking my first and dearest AO3 friend has no official account, I'm putting it up here that this is my gift for you. Thanks for helping with this! :) Lots of hugs and love!
> 
> I've always thought the last Sansa Chapter for Storm of Swords was pretty symbolic. There are even theories about it. It's the one where she builds Winterfell using snow while she was at the godswood in the Eyrie - her first taste of freedom, and another lesson of its cost. For the sake of transparency, I've used excerpts from that chapter for this one and they are indicated in the "dream" part of this chapter though I did not use them in order and have shortened some. Also, a Storm of Swords chapter and two scenes from the same episode of the show will be featured here too. The two scenes are what sealed the de for me that something was there between them. And I had to start with them to remind me of why I jumped to this ship. Though their reunion hug could be innocent at first or the catalyst. I'll be referencing that more in another chapter.
> 
> I promise the next chapters won't be like this - or as confusing. Remember her thoughts are racing and jumbled with so many emotions post-battle, just so and she has not healed yet. This story is about her journey of healing. 
> 
> Again, Happy GOT7 everyone! No matter what they do with our babies, I'll be keeping a blind eye to that for this one for the ship.


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